The Hudson Chronicles
by MizJoely
Summary: A series of Sherlollian one-shots set in various rather silly universes.
1. A Transformative Experience

**A Transformative Experience**

_For lilsherlockian1975 and her son, who inspired this little silly ficlet!_

_Sherock and Molly are on a case in Surrey, driving to the local beekeeper's cottage on an anonymous tip. "Yellow car!" Molly sings out and an intriguing encounter begins!_

* * *

Molly and Sherlock are driving to Surrey. It's for a case, of course, but that doesn't mean Molly can't enjoy herself! She and Sherlock are driving down a dirt road leading to the beekeeper's cottage where they'll supposedly receive information from the anonymous informant, regarding the infamous Shropshire Slasher, when Molly spots a car parked in a farmer's field. But not just any car, a yellow car! "Yellow car!" she sings out gleefully.

Sherlock slows down and gives her a puzzled look. "Is there some significance to seeing a yellow car? The Slasher isn't known for driving any particular vehicle, Molly, it more likely belongs to our mystery informant, whoever he is." He sounds grumpy, and Molly knows it's because he couldn't deduce anything about the person who called them due to the electronic voice modulator they were using.

She giggles. "No, silly, it's a game!" She starts to explain the rules – or at least the Arthur Shappey version of the rules, the simplest form of the game – when suddenly a loud noise from the parked vehicle captures their attention. Both heads swivel in that direction, and both mouths drop open in gapes of surprise when the car suddenly transforms into a robot! A robot that stands up and walks over toward them.

"Oh, it's one of those Transformers," Molly exclaims. Sherlock gives her a blank look. "You know, the ones that are always destroying Los Angeles in the US?" Another blank look. "Sherlock, how could you not know about this?" Molly huffs in exasperation.

"It has no impact on my Work or my personal life, why should I bother?" he sniffs in response, although he is still eyeing the peculiar vehicle-turned-robot with a great deal of interest

At this Bumblebee – yes, THAT Bumblebee – who's been unashamedly eavesdropping, gives a robot version of a sigh and says, "Sherlock Holmes, for a supposed genius you're really dense sometimes."

Sherlock glares at him. "Why, because I have no interest in what happens across the pond?"

Bumblebee shakes his massive head and makes an electronic "tsk"ing sound. "No, because you can't see what's right in front of you." He gestures at Molly, who blushes. "Stop pretending you only want this lovely lady to accompany you on cases because John isn't available and tell her how you really feel!" It's Sherlock's turn to blush while Molly stares at him. Bumblebee steps back. "Now that I've done what I came here for – oh, sorry about lying about knowing where the Shropshire Slasher is – I can head back to the US to take care of the Decepticons once and for all."

Then he whooshes away while Sherlock stares down at his hands and Molly grins. "Something you want to tell me, Sherlock?" she says softly.

He opens and closes his mouth a few times, gripping the steering wheel very tightly, then sighs and give in to the inevitable. "I'm extremely upset with that robot for lying to me and IloveyouMollyHooper," he adds in a rush, cheeks burning a bright red.

"I love you too, Sherlock Holmes," Molly replies, leaning forward and eagerly pressing her lips to his in a kiss. He returns it just as eagerly, holding her closely until she suddenly pulls back.

Confused, he stares at her; has he done something wrong? "Sherlock, seriously, it's all over the news, how could you not know about giant robots battling in Los Angeles?"

He shrugs. "Probably deleted it."

She shakes her head fondly. "I guess this means you don't know about Godzilla, either?"

The return of the blank stare speak volumes. "I only save room on my hard drive for important things, Molly, you know that. Things pertaining to cases. And you," he adds. "Why do you think I know when you've taken off your lipstick or gained weight?"

She kisses him again between squeals of laughter, and knows that their future together will never be boring.

**The End**


	2. Legolas, Legoland, Leggo My Eggo?

**Legolas, Legoland, Leggo My Eggo?**

_Many liberties have been taken with what you can see at Legoland, in order to fit my silly theme. Please just roll with it, even if they don't actually have a Lord of the Rings or American breakfast food attraction. Once again, for lilsherlockian1975 and son. Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

"You want to go where?"

"You heard me, Sherlock." Molly squeezed his hand and smiled.

"He heard you," John said with a grin, "he simply could not believe his ears!"

Molly giggled while Sherlock continued to look bemused. OK, scratch 'Star Trek quotes' off his list of Things He Knew. "Come on, it'll be fun," she wheedled. "I've not been in ages."

Sherlock looked utterly horrified. "You mean you've been there before…and you want to go again?" He looked over at John and Mary, who weren't bothering to fight back their grins. Two-year-old Emily Watson toddled over to him, tugging at his coat until he knelt down so they were relatively closer in height. She gave him a hug and he lifted her up in his arms.

"Wanna go, Unca Lock!" she crowed, giving him a soppy kiss on the nose, and Molly knew the battle was won.

They were going to Legoland.

**oOo**

He'd managed to live his entire life – at least, since 1996 – neither knowing nor caring that such a thing existed. And yet here he was, walking into a theme park based on plastic building bricks, Emily Watson tugging on one hand and Molly Hooper holding the other, with Emily's parents strolling behind them. About to spend – horror of horrors! – an entire day here.

Still, when he saw Emily's excitement and Molly's quiet happiness – quite ignoring the giggles the elder Watsons were having at his expense – he decided that maybe it wouldn't be such a terrible time after all. And when his goddaughter innocently found a case for him…well, suddenly things were looking up!

John and Mary were on one of the rides, leaving him and Molly to watch over Emily, who was currently enthralled with an exhibit featuring Lego-made Tolkien characters from the recent movies. Molly in particular couldn't stop grinning over the idea of a Lego-Legolas, and although he secretly thought it was a revolting and obvious play on words, he had to admit that the handiwork was impressive. In fact, all the Lego displays were impressive, if a colossal waste of time; why bother putting such things together in the first place?

"Where da bow, Unca Lock?" Emily interrupted his musings to point at the Lego elf (which Molly assured him looked 'just like' the actor that played him in the movies). "He gots a arrow but no bow!"

Twenty minutes later they were surrounded by concerned park officials, all of them at a loss as to how the, er, loss had occurred – and pathetically eager to have England's only Consulting Detective on the case. Twenty minutes after that, they'd tracked down the perpetrators; park employees playing a prank had switched out the real display for one they'd mocked up just to see how long it took someone to notice the difference in the model that had been there the day before versus the one there now. Molly persuaded the officials not to fire the pranksters, Emily got to see the real Lego figure in its current hiding place (back of a storage room next to, of all things, a half-built Lego statue of a box of American toaster food that had Molly giggling again).

By the time John and Mary rejoined them at the agreed-upon rendezvous point (the entrance to Pirate Shores, the only part of the park that Sherlock had held the faintest interest in visiting), Emily was sleeping in her godfather's arms, head on his shoulder and mouth open in quiet snores. Even the excitement of helping Unca Locke with her very first case, he told them smugly as they stared at the exclusive Lego statue of said uncle Molly was proudly carrying (her gift for being so alert!), wasn't quite enough to overcome her usual nap time. "Too bad, we should probably leave," he suggested.

Molly, however, was not to be deterred. "She can sleep in the pushchair," she said firmly. "And you can take me round the Pirate Shores attractions and tell me all the reasons why they're historically inaccurate."

With that sort of enticement, how could he refuse?

The rest of the day passed by in relative quiet, relieved only by Emily's crabbiness upon waking from her nap. The only thing that would quiet her (besides lunch, eaten at a horribly overpriced place called The Burger Kitchen) was her new toy, which she had already christened 'My Legolocke' in spite of her godfather's attempts to get her to call it – well, anything else.

By the time they left for the day, Emily was once again sleeping, John and Mary were gleefully referring to Sherlock as Legolocke, and he was more than ready to just go back to Baker Street and away from all the domesticity that had been enforced on him – why, again? Oh, yes. His sour expression softened as Molly, who'd fallen asleep in the cab, murmured and cuddled closer to him. He slipped an arm around her shoulders and kissed the top of her head. Molly Hooper-Holmes. His wife really could get him to do just about anything she wanted.

He supposed one day she'd talk him into coming here again – probably with their own sprog in tow. Should he tell her about her 'interesting condition' now, or let her figure it out for herself?

Resting his head carefully atop hers, he closed his eyes and smiled. He'd drop a few hints and let her figure it out, he decided.

Seeing her happy expression would be even more fun than solving a case with Emily had been.


	3. Oreo Sure?

_sweet-sweet-escape said: My son wanted Oreos, I said to him Oreo sure you want Oreos? Nothing, I repeated it OREO sure you want Oreos? Get it? He's like 'yeah' *bored voice* he just gave me a pity 'I did find it funny a little bit.'_

_And I said: This totally belongs in The Hudson Chronicles, so here it goes!_

* * *

"Aargh!"

Molly looked over at Sherlock as he threw the newspaper - an American one - down on the floor and crossed his arms with an annoyed pout on his lips.

"What's wrong?" she asked, although she couldn't help the affectionate grin as she spoke. He was so adorable when he was in a strop over something - well, when it was something the newspapers caused, at least.

"This," he said, with a dramatic gesture to the now-crumpled up papers. He kicked moodily at it with one foot. "Idiotic Americans. What the blazes do they mean, 'four letter word for cookie'? A cookie is a cookie, and there are no other terms in common usage that I'm aware of for a message given to a Web browser by a Web server!"

Molly giggled and perched on the arm of his chair, ruffling his hair. "Let me see?" she asked. Grumbling (but humming a bit first to show his appreciation for her attention) he reached down and found the appropriate page. She studied the crossword for a moment, then giggled again.

She giggled even harder when he mock-glared at her. "What, pray tell, is so funny, wife?"

She shook her head, then silently held out her hand, waiting until he placed the pen in it. She swiftly filled in the answer, then showed it to him.

"Oreo?" he read aloud, then looked up at her, still baffled. "What the he..."

"Cookies, Sherlock," Molly explained. "The American version of 'biscuit'. Oreo's are an American biscuit, they call them 'sandwich cookies' because the..."

"Because of the cream 'sandwiched' between two wafers, yes, got it," he finished for her, muttering the words and looking extremely vexed. "If they'd just name things correctly things would be a lot less difficult."

Molly ruffled his hair again, then placed a soft kiss on the top of his head. Her giggles erupted again as he dropped the paper and pulled her down onto his lap for a proper kiss. "Good thing you keep me around then," she quipped, somewhat breathlessly, when the kiss ended. "Can't have you cluttering up that magnificent brain of yours with useless trivia. Luckily mine has room for loads of it!"

Her next set of giggles was interrupted by another kiss, at the end of which her husband said with a grin, "Lucky for me, indeed!"


	4. Funnel Cake

_A/N: The usual dedication, to lilsherlockian1975 and H, enjoy!_

* * *

"It's a what?"

Sherlock's expression hovered somewhere between 'doubtful' and 'horrified' as Molly held the deep-fried confection up to him. "A funnel cake," she said. "With powdered sugar. Mmmmmm!"

He had to admit, it smelled rather good, but still – a deep fried sugary treat purchased from one of the carnival's many questionable vendors? Um, no. Definitely not for him – and, he thought as he plucked it deftly out of Molly's hands, definitely NOT for his pregnant wife, either. "Too fatty, too sugary," he proclaimed. "You're supposed to be eating healthier, Molly. That's what you told me when I brought you crisps for lunch last week."

The look his wife bestowed upon him was murderous; the giggle that escaped from Mary Watson's lips as she hung back and watched was grating. Still, when he turned his frown on her, all she did was waggle her eyebrows at him and hold little Vera closer to her chest. "Sherlock, didn't you learn anything from my pregnancy?" she asked.

John, who'd gone off to fetch his wife an ice cream, rejoined them at that moment. He took one look at his wife's mirth, Sherlock's scowl, and Molly's compressed lips, and said, "Great. Gone five minutes – five bloody minutes! – and you've already managed to muck things up." He looked back at his wife. "What did he say?"

"He's trying to tell Molly she can't have her funnel cake," Mary replied in an exaggerated whisper.

John's eyes widened, and he quickly took a step back. "So, right." He cleared his throat. "How about we go sit down over there," he gestured vaguely behind them, "and eat our ice cream while Molly and Sherlock have a nice chat about how much he's going to enjoy sleeping on the sofa for the next week?"

Sherlock stuck his nose in the air and tried not to look like a very worried husband as John and Mary strolled away. Even little Vera's expression was unhappy – although that could more likely be attributed to an imminent bowel movement than to any personal opinion on the situation at hand. Especially since she was only three months old.

When he turned back to his wife with an attempt at a friendly smile on his lips, however, he quickly found himself scowling again. Mostly because she was very calmly – and very noisily, deliberately so – eating her funnel cake. Which she'd removed from the plate in his hands while he was distracted by the departing Watsons. "Traitors," he muttered.

Correctly interpreting his grumpy word, Molly gave him her widest grin, being sure to give him a good long look at the half-chewed food in her mouth. "Ugh," he said turning his head away and shuddering. He could look at corpses all day long, investigate the most gruesome crime scenes, show pictures of decapitated nuns to enthralled pre-teens – but the sight of a mouthful of chewed up food utterly and entirely grossed him out.

Which, of course, his wife well knew. He waited until he heard her swallowing – with many exaggerated smackings of her lips – before looking at her again. "You did say," he reminded her weakly.

"I did," Molly agreed. She moved closer and patted his arm with one sugar-dusted hand, blithely transferring the white powder onto the rolled-up sleeve of his dress shirt. Blast, now he'd have to have it dry-cleaned; his fault for not wearing a simple t-shirt as Molly has suggested! "But pregnant women have cravings for a reason, Sherlock – can you deduce what mine might be?"

His eyes brightened; not only was Molly no longer angry at him, but apparently she was offering him up a puzzle to solve, brilliant! He pulled back and looked her over from head to toe with a – not a _critical_ eye, exactly, more of a…_deducing_ eye. "You've only gained four pounds since your last checkup," he murmured in a rapid monotone. "Skin very clear and healthy, hair fuller and shinier, eyes clear, nothing that could be considered bad news…"

"Depends on what you call bad news," Molly interrupted him. He stared at her, a sudden dread in his heart. She saw his reaction and calmed him with another smile. "Here, hold this," she said, giving him the remains of her funnel cake in order to fumble for something in her handbag. "You missed the scan because of that case – not mad, I understand! – but if you'd been there…"

She held out a small, square piece of paper – ah, a print-out of the scan, their first official picture of the baby…Sherlock gulped and felt the color drain from his face as he examined the image. "T-twins?" he said weakly, swaying on his feet. He gave Molly a sickly smile. "I-I always miss something," he said – before collapsing to the ground in a dead faint.

"What's wrong? What happened?" John shouted as he ran toward them.

Molly gave him a wry grin. "He'll be fine, John." Her grin deepened as she knelt down and rested Sherlock's head on her lap. "Let's just say funnel cakes are the last things he'll be worrying about for quite some time!"

Sherlock never did live that particular ignominy down – and John was sure to have plenty of funnel cakes on hand when the twins were born six months later!


	5. A Platypus Is Not A Spy

**A Platypus Is Not A Spy (Or, how Sherlock Holmes Teamed Up With An Australian Mammal To Stop Doofenshmirtz's Latest Evil Plan)**

He was seeing things; he had to be. Sherlock Holmes, world's first – and only – Consulting Detective shut his eyes, opened them, blinked rapidly, then rubbed them.

There was still a three-foot-tall, green, hat-wearing duck-billed platypus standing in front of him.

Standing, as it was, on its hind legs, with its forelegs folded across its chest as if said legs were actually arms. Hang on, there were….one, two, three fingers and a thumb, so it _was_ arms?

He must have hit his head, he concluded dizzily as he and the platypus continued their staring match. "A platypus in a hat," he said slowly. "A green furred, duck-billed platypus standing roughly three feet tall on its hind legs. In my flat." He shook his head; nope, no shooting pains, no actual dizziness. And no, he hadn't taken any drugs. Maybe someone had pumped some sort of hallucinogenic into the air? He sniffed, but smelled only the usual – gunpowder, chemicals, a whiff of decomp, the awful floral air freshener Mrs. Hudson occasionally spritzed in spite of his objections, and leftover Kung Pow Chicken.

Molly would never believe this, even if he took pictures with his mobile and sent them to her. She'd think it was a prank and call him a git and make him sleep on the sofa…

"Attention Sherlock Holmes!"

Sherlock jumped a bit, staring down at the unwelcome visitor to his flat once again. "Oh, God, not a talking platypus?"

"No, it's not Agent P, speaking, it's me, Major Monogram!" Sherlock finally registered that the voice was coming from his own laptop, and turned to see a stern looking grey-haired – and mustached – man looking at him. "Agent P is here to collect you for the case your brother's assured us only you can handle."

Drat, Mycroft, of course. He should have known not to make blanket promises to take on whatever case his brother needed him for in exchange for his help in keeping Molly safe from the Moriarty imposter. Drat and double drat! "Fine," he said with an exasperated – and highly exaggerated – sigh. "Just tell me why I'm working with an anthropomorphic platypus? A Baskerville platypus, I presume?" he added, side-eyeing 'Agent P' as he walked over to stand next to Sherlock in front of the computer. "Clearly it's not a midget in a costume, so genetic engineering is the only logical…"

"There's no time for logic, man! We have to stop Doofenshmirtz from his latest attempt to take over the tri-city area!" the man on the computer screen exclaimed, pounding his fist down on some unseen surface off-camera. What was his name again? Colonel Mustard, or something like that. Sherlock dismissed it as unimportant, mind focusing on the case.

"You'll have to be a bit more specific, as I'm not familiar with whatever tri-city area you're talking about," he said coolly. "You're obviously American, easily excited and with a flair for the dramatics that tells me you've worked with my brother before." He sniffed. "He's such a drama queen! Anyway, whoever this 'Doofenschmirtz' is, I'm confident I'll be able to take him down for you. Now give me the details, there's a good chap." He gave his widest, most insincere smile, but the man on the screen seemed to take it face value, relaxing a bit and mopping his brow with a white handkerchief – mass produced, cheap, unraveling a bit in one corner from overuse, Sherlock noted automatically.

"Doofenschmirtz is in London, Mr. Holmes. He plans to use the London Eye in some diabolical scheme of his. Agent P has the dossier with the pertinent facts about this insidious criminal mastermind, and your brother's arranged for a car to pick you both up. Oh, and he says to tell you that Molly – is it Molly?" he interrupted himself to ask someone off-camera, who murmured a response. "He says Molly sends her love and is enjoying her weekend in the Baha….ah, wherever it is she's currently staying," the Colonel – General? – corrected himself hastily. "The top secret location that even you don't know, for her protection during this case. Oh, wait, no, sorry; for her protection until you take this Moriarty chap down."

"A far more dangerous criminal than this 'Doofenschmirtz chap'," Sherlock snapped. "You and Mycroft are both lucky that I'm still waiting for some vital information to come in or you'd be stuck dealing with this little crisis on your own!"

He turned to face the platypus – Agent P – and held out his hand impatiently. A sheaf of papers loosely clipped together inside a manila folder was slapped into his hand (where the devil had the little beast had it stashed?) and he quickly started scanning the pages, mumbling to himself as he and his new partner headed downstairs and into the waiting car.

**Meanwhile, at the London Eye…**

Vanessa Doofenschmirtz rolled her eyes as her father eagerly explained his Evil Plan to her. "And then, using the London Eye as an integral part of my Giant Wheel of Doominator, I'll simply roll into the tri-state area and take over! Well? How does that sound?"

"Like the worst idea ever, Dad," she said with a much-put-upon sigh. "For one thing, you can't just roll that thing across the Atlantic Ocean, right? How are you going to get it back home? Can't we just go to Madame Tussauds?" Her eyes took on a dreamy quality. "There's a new exhibit of this really hot actor name Ben…"

"No, no, no museum trips to look at hot actors!" her father interrupted her hastily. He had ZERO interest in watching his sweet little baby girl drool over some idiot in a nice suit. Not that he had any clue which actor she meant of course! "As for getting the Doominator back home, I'll just use this hamster control device I've whipped up," he tapped the gadget in his left hand, "zap the little rascals with my Growth Ray," he pulled that particular device out of his back pocket and waved it at his daughter, "and blam! Giant hamsters to spin the wheel across the ocean and back home, where I'll shrink them back to their normal size and add the wheel to my device. And best of all, no Perry the Platypus to get in the way since he'll never expect to see me here!"

"Wrong on all counts," came a bored British voice from behind them.

Doofenschmirtz and his daughter both turned to stare at the eavesdropper, Vanessa appreciatively – oh, he was cute! – and her father with a scowl. "And just who do you think you are?" he asked, annoyed at being interrupted during such a crucial father-daughter moment – not to mention right in the midst of his dramatic monologue! Really, British people could be so rude!

"I am Sherlock Holmes," the man announced, as if that name was supposed to mean something to the CEO and founder of Doofenschmirtz Evil Incorporated. "And I believe you've already met my associate."

With a dramatic swirl of his dark coat – Doofenschmirtz begrudgingly had to admit the stranger had style – Sherlock Holmes stepped to one side, revealing the small green form of…

"Perry the Platypus! How did you find me?" the evil scientist and would-be ruler of the Tri-City Area screeched.

His nemesis simply tilted his head to one side as if to say, "Really?"

Doofenschmirtz sighed. So much for his wonderful new plan. Luckily he had a quick escape ready to go; as Perry and Sheerluck whatever-his-name-was moved to handcuff him, he quickly depressed a button on the control device. He and Vanessa were enclosed in a clear plastic bubble, safety harnesses strapped them to the column in the center, the rockets on the bottom ignited, and soon they were launched into the atmosphere and making their way safely back home. Vanessa sighed; she'd really wanted to get to Madame Tussauds! Daddy was always messing things up like this! Still, it was kind of nice, flying home without having to worry about customs or cheap airline seats.

But she was definitely going to make him take her back for a real vacation sometime soon!

**oOo**

Sherlock and Perry watched as Doofenschmirtz and Vanessa disappeared from view. The platypus ripped his hat from his head and threw it to the ground in a display of temper worthy of Gavin Lestrade on a tear. "Sooo," Sherlock said, drawing out the word as he placed his hands into his coat pockets and rocked back on his heels. "That just happened. I'm guessing this means you'll be heading back to America, then?"

Perry nodded dejectedly as he picked up his hat, dusted it off, and jammed it back on his head. "A bit anticlimactic, that, but hey, on the bright side, neither one of us ended up captured and subjected to some boring monologue whilst an excruciatingly complex plan was put into action in order to do us in, right?"

Perry stared at him, and Sherlock immediately deduced his questions. "Ah yes, it's quite clear that your nemesis is generally surprised by you, manages to temporarily incapacitate and capture you, then expounds endlessly upon whatever crackpot scheme he's cooked up, thus giving you plenty of time to free yourself and stop him. Doofenschmirtz then makes his escape and you both vow to take each other down the next time. Do stop me if I'm wrong," he added politely.

Perry slowly shook his head, and Sherlock grinned, pulling his hands from his pockets and clapping them together. "So! All that's left is for you to make your report to that shouty red-faced man on the computer screen and off you pop, back to America. But first," he added, "I know a really good chip shop on Marleybone Road. Fancy a bite?"

What else could Perry do but nod?

He might not be much of a conversationalist, but he did appreciate a good fish-and-chips meal!


	6. X Marks the Lock

_A/N: A long-awaited update! Welcome to an even crackier crackfic than anything I've ever written before. Dedicated to lilsherlockian1975 and her boys._

* * *

"Let her go, Magniarty. This is between us, Molly has nothing to do with it."

Sherclops' greatest enemy stared at him incredulously. "Nothing to do with it? She has EVERYTHING to do with it! She helped you fake your death! You cheated!" he practically screamed.

"So did you!" Sherclops shot back. "Neither one of us actually died, so you can't cry foul just because we tricked each other!"

"Yes I can," Magniarty said petulantly. "I did it on my own, by making sure the bullet went around my head instead of through it. You had help. Not. FAIR!" He did scream this time, and Molly winced and tried to cover her ears. 'Tried' being the operative word, since Magniarty had her wrapped up securely in the strips of aluminum he'd magnetically bent around her when he stormed the morgue minutes earlier.

Sherclops continued to glare at his adversary through the ruby quartz lenses of his (very expensive) Ray Bans. "Let her go," he said again. "Or else."

"Or else what?" Magniarty sneered, obviously thinking he had the upper hand in this. "You're boring, you're on the side of the angels, what are you gonna do? You couldn't defeat me last time because you were so afraid to use your powers on me in case you accidentally killed me! What's different this time?"

"This time," Sherclops said calmly as he stared his masked opponent dead in the eyes, "you made a mistake. You didn't just threaten John, Mrs. Hudson or Gavin." ("Who's Gavin?" Magniarty tried to interrupt, but Sherclops just bulldozed right over him.) "This time, you threatened someone a lot more important to me." He looked over at Molly, speaking to her now. "You threatened the woman I love, and there's no way I can let you do that and live."

Spinning quickly, he darted his hands up and lifted the Ray Bans, releasing the deadly beams of his optic blast squarely at Magniarty's head.

He heard Molly crying out "NO!" but it was too late; the blast was already moving faster than the human eye could see. Unbelievably, at the last possible nanosecond it was deflected away from Magniarty, turning a kill-shot into a render-unconscious-shot as it glanced off the evil man's helmet and hit the morgue wall. Magniarty dropped as if he'd been run over by a rhinoceros, and Sherclops stared at him stupidly for a moment before turning his gaze to Molly. "How did you do that?" he demanded as she stared back at him, looking just as confused as he felt.

"I-I don't know," she admitted with a shake of her head. "I was just desperate for you not to kill him - not to kill anyone for my sake! - and it just sort of...happened."

"Can you do it again?" Sherclops asked, in full 'let's do a science experiment' mode. He nodded at her bonds. "Try to unwrap yourself. Otherwise I'll have to blast them off you and that could be painful."

Molly nodded. "O-okay, I'll try." Taking a deep breath, she concentrated hard on the bands of metal holding her fast. At first nothing happened; just when Sherclops was convinced he'd have to blast her free, he saw the metal shaking a bit. Then it shivered, and suddenly unwrapped itself from around Molly's petite form, falling to the tile floor with a loud clatter. Molly looked both amazed and proud as she looked down at the inert metal, then back up at Sherlock. With a brilliant smile, she stepped forward.

Unaware that he'd moved at the same time, Sherclops suddenly found that he was holding her and kissing her. When the kiss ended, Molly laughed and looked up at him. "I guess you meant what you said."

He nodded. "Of course I did, why would I lie? I love you, Molly. I never wanted to admit it because it's not safe to be around me, as you just learned." He frowned. "But now, with this new power of yours...I'll have to bring you to Professor M." He grimaced at the thought of Molly having to deal with his annoying older brother, but needs must. "But Watserine and Marystorm will be absolutely thrilled. And," he added as an afterthought, "so will Lebeast and Mrs. Shadowson."

Molly ducked her head shyly. "What about you, Sherclops? Does this...does this change anything?"

He grinned. "Yup," he replied with an obnoxious pop of the p. "Makes me love you even more! Now, let's get this villain tied up..."

"Oh no!" Molly cried as they turned their attention back to where Magniarty was - or rather, had been - lying. The morgue was now empty except for the two of them (and the late Mr. Harold Fletcher, fifty-seven, heart attack induced by the ingestion of iocane powder administered to him by a shifty Sicilian accompanied by a giant and a swordsman). "Magniarty got away!"

Sherclops made a brushing motion. "Don't worry, Molly," he said confidently. "With your new powers added to the group, I know we'll be able to take him down next time he dares to show his face. Now, let's head back to Baker Street so I can show you off to the others, all right?"

Molly nodded. "All right. Gee, I suppose I should try to come up with my own X-name, huh? How about something to do with a Phoenix since I've sort of been reborn? Or is that too braggy? Maybe just..."

"No, I like it," Sherclops interrupted with a grin. "Molnix it is!" He kissed her again for good measure, feeling happier than he should have considering Magniarty's escape. But having Molly by his side and knowing she could more than take care of herself in the future meant that they could finally be together.

Just the way he'd always wanted them to be.

* * *

For anyone who doesn't know their X-Men:

Magniarty = Moriarty (Magneto), magnetic powers

Sherclops = Cyclops (Sherlock), shoots deadly optic beams from his eyes

Molnix = Phoenix (Molly!), telepath/telekinetic

Lebeast = Beast (Lestrade), super agile and strong, covered in blue fur (silver in this case)

Watserine = Wolverine (John Watson), super healing power, adamantium steel skeleton, had metal claws that spring from his knuckles

Marystorm = Storm (Mary Watson), elemental powers over the weather

Mrs. Shadowson = Shadowcat (Mrs. Hudson), able to phase through solid matter at will

Professor M = Professor X (Mycroft), telepath


	7. Sole Survivor

_A/N: Someone had to have minor surgery on his foot, and thus this pun-filled ficlet was born. Enjoy!_

* * *

"_Shark It To Me_? Really, Molly? That's what you're wasting your time with on your day off? Crap telly?"

"Hush, they're about to open the stomach so we can see if the victim's missing body parts are in there," Molly said without removing her eyes from the screen. She heard Sherlock give an annoyed grunt, but smiled to herself as she felt him settle onto the sofa next to her.

It took him all of about five seconds to start pointing out the many inaccuracies of the movie, which Molly ignored for another five seconds. After that, she reached down, grabbed one of the throw pillows, and calmly stuffed it over his face. "Shut it," she said, still watching the movie. "I love Shark week and all the ridiculous movies and if you want to stay, then you'll be quiet. Or else." She dropped the pillow onto his lap.

"Or else what?" he grumbled…but very, very quietly.

"Or else you'll be taking me out for sushi instead of Italian for our anniversary," she said.

Sherlock blanched; he loathed sushi – the raw fish, the seaweed, the sticky rice…but Molly loved it, and if he annoyed her enough to force her hand, then he would indeed find himself at her favorite sushi bar instead of Angelo's next Thursday. "Right, shutting up," he said, and once again focused on the show.

"Hah! I knew it!" Molly crowed as the so-called oceanographer hacked open the dead shark's stomach with all the finesse of a drunken lumberjack. "Look, there it is!" She grabbed Sherlock's arm and gave a little bounce of excitement. "The foot! I knew it would be the foot! It's the foot of the gang member that made fun of the girl for warning him about the shark sightings!"

Suddenly her grin widened, and she actually removed her gaze from the telly in order to look at her consulting detective boyfriend. "Sher-lock!" she sing-songed. "I guess you could say..."

"Don't," he said warningly, but she blithely ignored him.

"I guess you could say…the gang's afoot!"

He groaned and slapped his hand over his eyes as he leaned back on the sofa. "It's a good thing I love you, Molly Hooper," he groused.

His giggling girlfriend just snuggled her head on his chest. "Ah, but you DO love me, right?"

"Don't get me started," he sighed, dropping his arm around her shoulder and giving her a squeeze. "Lucky for you that, in a world full of goldfish, there's only one Molly!"

He grinned at her as she stared at him through wide brown eyes. She wasn't the only one in the room who could come up with bad puns!


End file.
